Anne Holt - 1222

‘You too,’ I called.

For the first time since I met Veronica, she seemed unsure of herself. On the one hand she wanted to demonstrate her independence. On the other, she was smart enough to realize she would look like a stubborn brat if she didn’t go along with everybody else.

The police had arrived. They had issued an order. Everybody was doing as they were told.

Including Veronica, once she had thought things through.

Several times during the past couple of days Veronica had reminded me of a cat. She got up reluctantly from the floor with soft movements. She padded across the floor in a slight arc, as if she were on the alert, approaching her prey. Only now did I notice that she had her bag with her once more, a medium-sized shoulder bag I hadn’t seen before.

I’d only read about it, on Adrian’s list.

‘Not there,’ I said quickly as she headed towards Adrian.

I pointed in the opposite direction.

‘There! You too, Adrian. Sit over there by the fire. On the sofa. There’s plenty of room.’

I pointed to the Muslim couple.

Fortunately both Adrian and Veronica did as I said. I hadn’t really expected it to be that easy. The youngest police officer gave me a sceptical look, and it seemed as if he was about to say something. But he closed his mouth.

‘My name is Per Langerud,’ said the oldest of the three detectives, clearing his throat with his hand in front of his mouth. ‘First of all I would like to take this opportunity to express…’

It was probably difficult to find the right word.

‘… my sympathy,’ he said eventually, ‘for the incredibly difficult situation in which you have found yourselves over the past few days. I realize that you all want to go home as soon as is humanly possible. And I can assure you that is what will happen.’

A delighted murmur rippled through the room. Someone applauded tentatively.

‘I did say as soon as possible,’ said Per Langerud, raising his voice. ‘Which means when we have carried out the most essential aspects of our investigation. The more cooperative you are, the quicker our work will proceed. But I’m afraid none of you should expect to leave before tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Perhaps not until -’

‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ shouted Mikkel, getting to his feet. ‘Fuck that! I’m leaving here as soon as it’s light.’

‘Me too,’ said the lady with the knitting. ‘I want to go home. I have to get home. My cat is all alone and I wasn’t going to…’

‘We don’t have to put up with this,’ said Kari Thue, gaining the support of the older businessmen who had been hanging around her for the past couple of days. ‘What right do you have to stop us from leaving here as soon as it’s feasible? You have the right to hold me here only if you have reason to suspect me of committing a criminal offence, which you don’t.’

‘Quiet!’ shouted Per Langerud in a voice that broke from baritone to bass. ‘I can assure you that we have the right to -’

‘Fuck it,’ said Adrian suddenly, getting up from the sofa and taking a threatening step towards Langerud.

The boy looked comical more than anything; he was fifty kilos lighter and at least twenty years younger than the police officer. But still he hissed: ‘We don’t even know if you really are cops. I’m leaving here tomorrow if I have to.’

‘Are you going to ski?’ I asked loudly. ‘Is that what you’re all intending to do? Put on your skis and ski down?’

The younger officers had moved closer to Adrian. I signalled to them to leave him alone. They drew back hesitantly and sat down right on the edge of their seats, ready to leap into action. Several of the fourteen-year-olds were crying and sobbing. The knitting lady had once again buried her face in her handiwork, which by this stage must have been completely ruined by snot and tears.

‘You will stay here for as long as the authorities decide you will stay here,’ I said loudly. ‘For one thing, you have no way of leaving here under your own steam.’

The implacable logic in this simple statement made an impression. The teenagers snivelled and wiped their eyes. Mikkel sat down. It was so quiet that I could hear the click of the needles as the lady from the church commission once again began knitting frenetically, before she suddenly stopped and put down the half-finished sweater.

‘You will sit here and listen to what the police have to say.’

My voice was trembling, but I didn’t know if it was because of nerves or rage. Both, probably. Despite the fact that I felt neither angry nor anxious. Just exhausted.

‘And nobody is leaving here until the police give us permission to do so,’ I added when there was total silence.

Per Langerud ran his hand over his chest as if the rough bobbles on the old woollen cardigan would disappear with a little brushing. Adrian was right when he said these men didn’t look like police officers. Langerud was wearing knee breeches, slightly too tight, and grey socks that were conversely too loose, and kept on slipping down over his high ski-boots. The younger officers looked as if they were on their way to an aprés ski session at Geilo. Both were wearing blue jackets. I knew they cost around six thousand kroner, and their ski-boots were probably in the same price bracket. You definitely don’t buy clothes like that on a police officer’s salary. Perhaps they had been told to go off and shop for their own equipment for the expedition, and had taken the opportunity to blow the state’s entire purchasing budget.

Langerud took his time. Ran his hand over his chest again. He tried to tug at the tight knee breeches a little with his thumb and index finger. Then he examined his knuckles and shook his head, as if he could hear a strange sound that no one else was able to perceive. Only when everybody had had the opportunity to feel really embarrassed did a forgiving smile spread over his angular face. He opened his mouth.

‘Excuse me,’ I said loudly. ‘Excuse me, Inspector.’

I took a chance on the title. It found its mark. He turned towards me. He looked surprised, annoyed and curious all at the same time.

‘I was wondering whether… Could I possibly have a word?’

‘With me?’

‘Yes.’

He held out his hand in an inviting gesture.

‘Carry on.’

‘Could you perhaps come over here for a moment?’

He frowned again, his expression encapsulating more feelings than I could read. He probably thought the easiest thing would be to listen to what I had to say. And perhaps the most sensible thing too. At any rate he came over to me, and when I waved my index finger he leaned down and put his ear to my mouth.

He smelled of sweet aftershave and coffee.

When I had said my piece, he slowly straightened up.

It was no longer difficult to interpret his expression. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was doubtful. What I had asked for was far from normal procedure in a murder enquiry. If either of us had dared to take the time to think about it, we might have realized it probably wasn’t even legal. There was at the very least good reason to question the ethics of what I was asking him for. He ought to say no. Both his age and the task he had been given indicated that Per Langerud was an experienced and skilled police officer.

That was why he said yes.

Or rather: he nodded. It was the tiniest, most imperceptible nod, but it conveyed his consent. I had his permission to try, and he turned away so quickly that I suspected he didn’t want to infect me with his doubts.

‘I have been given permission,’ I said, rolling my chair closer to everyone else, cto ask a few questions first. Before the police do what they have to do, and we can all go home.’